


Bold and Brave

by MOONSUN4president



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: Action & Romance, F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOONSUN4president/pseuds/MOONSUN4president
Summary: Moon Byulyi has been working the beat on the streets of Seoul for the past few years. Her girlfriend, Kim Yongsun, is hoping the two of them can move in together for their second anniversary, but Byulyi has her doubts. When a robbery attempt at a local coffee shop turns into a hostage situation, Byulyi is suddenly forced to face her worst fear and decide what truly matters to her.





	1. Committed

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the result of a long Twitter chat I had with my good friend, [**fireroasted**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fireroasted), whose talent and creativity are only equalled by her kindness and generosity.

By the time you get back into your cruiser, there are twenty minutes left to your shift and you pray that no calls come through for twenty-one minute. You just want to finish your report and go home. A moment later, the radio comes to life and you groan in frustration as dispatch calls in yet another neighbors' quarrel, but an eager beaver responds to it before you've willed yourself to reach for the microphone.

"Thanks, Rookie," you say outloud as you resume filling out your report. You write exactly one sentence, then decide to give Yongsun a call before she starts her shift. You curse foully when you remember that you left your phone on the kitchen table, next to the set of keys Yongsun had given you a few days earlier.

The two of you had made love for the second time that day, perhaps as a pleasant way to top off your second anniversary as a couple, and definitely because you still couldn't get enough of her in single servings. You'd been about to kiss her good night when Yongsun had given you a shy smile that made her look so young, you almost felt like a criminal lying naked next to her.

"I've got something for you," she said in a voice that completed the illusion of her being inappropriately young.

You asked her what it was, and wondered what kind of animal you were when a surge of pure desire shot through you.

Yongsun hid her face in her hands and let out a squeal that was filled with as much delight as it was with embarrassment, and you couldn't help but grin like a dimwit at the fuss she was making. After giving you one last hesitant look, lips pressed together in an unsuccessful effort to suppress a smile, she swallowed her doubt, got out of bed, and dug something out of her purse, which she then handed to you.

It was a small box, no larger than the palm of your hand. You gave her a questioning glance and she told you to just open it. Inside was a set of keys.

"Those are the keys to my place," she explained, even though you'd already guessed. You'd never let her move into your crummy apartment, even if you'd actually contemplated the possibility of her moving in with you. Too bare, too small, too noisy, too single. Yongsun's apartment, however, was the kind of place you'd want to share with her. It was not much larger than your apartment, but it was well-lit and had soundproofing. Everything in it smelled like her, which you loved. You feared you'd just ruin the place if you lived in it.

Yongsun didn't need an answer right away, which you were grateful for. As much as you wanted to spend every moment of your life with her, there was a part of you that didn't want to be found out. And when you'd come home yesterday smelling of garbage, vomit, and rage, you'd known what part that was. What if you started seeing the real you in those candy-brown eyes of hers? What if you got so fed-up and pissed-off at the world, you couldn't stand the sound of your name on her cherry-plump lips? What if the job sank its hooks so deep into your heart and mind, you couldn't see or hear her anymore? Could you really blame her then, if she started fooling around? Maybe with that infuriatingly pretty partner of hers?

Once your mind was made up, all you had to do was let yourself in and leave either your shoes at the door or the keys on her table, and she would understand. When you'd left for work last night, you had planned on dropping by her place after your shift and returning the keys; instead, you'd forgotten both your phone and the keys in your own apartment. Perhaps this was your subconscious telling you to reconsider your decision on your future living arrangements?

With only a few minutes left to your shift, you decide to drive back to the station, willing the radio into silence the whole way. You do not have any patience left for traffic incidents, habitual drunks, or imaginary thefts brought on by a cocktail of prescription drugs. You just want to have breakfast, hit the gym for a couple of hours, then go home and dream of Yongsun.

How you hate those weeks when one of you works the night shift, and the other, the day shift! You never get to see each other, unless one of you ends up working overtime—which isn't unusual for either of you—and your schedules somehow overlap, then someone overdoses or gets into some other life-threatening situation and you both respond to the same call—which is how the two of you had met in the first place. But this rarely happens, and when it does, you're usually too busy doing your job for either of you to be able to pay attention to the other. You hope Yongsun doesn't have to deal with any violent meth heads or sleazy boozers today. Or any other day.

You reach the station and are about to pull into the parking lot when the call comes through:

"Armed robbery in progress with possible hostage situation. All available units, please respond."

You want to smash the radio to pieces and hurl a stream of abuse at dispatch. Two more minutes, and you would've been off the hook. You confirm that you've received the call and are en route, your voice sounding a lot calmer than you feel.

As you approach the scene of the incident, however, you recognize the location and a sense of dread creeps over you. A coffee shop. Yongsun's favorite. Stops there every day before her shift, which should have just begun by now.

You instinctively reach for your phone, punching the passenger's seat as you once again remember that it's still at home. You park your cruiser near a cluster of police vehicles, slightly relieved to see that Hyejin is the sergeant ***** on duty. She comes over as soon as she notices your presence and thanks you for responding to the call. You admit that you weren't exactly happy to do so, but yours is not a nine-to-five kind of job.

"Tell me about it," Hyejin says. "This is hour number sixteen for me, but I really wanted to be here for this one."

You don't try to hide your surprise when you ask her why, and her answer nearly stops your heart.

"We think Yongsun may be in there."

You don't ask her who "we" are, or how "we" know this, but merely if you can borrow her phone. She opens her mouth to say something, then decides against it and hands you the mobile. You're the reason Hyejin joined the police to begin with, and she trusts you implicitly. Your hand is steady as you dial Yongsun's number, but your heartbeat steadily picks up with every ring that goes unanswered. You finally hang up and text her, then reluctantly hand the phone back to Hyejin, making her promise to let you know the second Yongsun either calls or texts back. Hyejin agrees and pretends not to notice that your hand is shaking.

As your friend, Hyejin knows that you're going to hate her for suggesting that you sit this one out; as your sergeant, she has no choice but to do so.

"You can't possibly expect me to go home and let you guys do all the work while my girlfriend is being held at gunpoint by some assholes who have nothing better to do on a Thursday morning than to rob a coffe shop." You say this without pausing for breath.

"Byul, we don't know that Yongsun is in there."

"You don't know, but you _think_ she may be in there. And since I can't get a hold of her, then I have to think the same."

Hyejin shakes her head. "I'm not going to force you to leave, but I'm afraid you may be too emotional to think clearly in this situation. That's why I wanted to be here."

"And you don't think those two straight shifts could affect your judgement?" You don't mean to question her ability to do her job, but her sergeant act is pissing you off. You know your words have hit the mark by the glint of anger that flashes in her eyes.

"Fine," she says. "Stay, but don't get in the way."

"I don't plan to," you say.

You watch for forty-five minutes as your colleagues set up a parameter and try to establish some form of communication with the hostage takers. Every minute that goes by puts Yongsun at greater risk, and you want to grab every cop you see and throw them through the large window panes that essentially make up the front and sides of the coffee shop. There is no way to approach the place without someone inside noticing anyway, so the direct route doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

Except for the fact that it's a surefire way to get the hostages killed.

"Has anyone checked the back?" you ask Hyejin.

"Not yet," she says.

You decide that now is a good time to go for a walk around the block. Hyejin looks like she might object for a second, but wisely chooses not to.

"Keep your radio on," she calls out as you stride away.

You acknowledge her with a wave, but don't turn back.

The thought of any harm coming to Yongsun makes you want to break into a run, but you remind yourself with every step that the people holding Yongsun hostage—allegedly—may have lookouts, and that running would call unnecessary attention to yourself. You desperately wish you weren't wearing your police uniform, so you could more easily blend in with the crowd, but your civilian clothes are at the station and your uniform may give those criminal pause before shooting a cop.

Or it may not. Either way, you are glad for the bulletproof vest.

You find an alley that leads behind a building situated right next to the coffee shop. You silently make your way along the building's back wall and, gun at the ready, peak around the corner. You can see the coffee shop's back entrance and, much to your surprise, find it unguarded. You sneak up to the door, keeping a watchful eye on your surroundings, then try the doorknob.

It's locked.

You quietly let Hyejin know that the back of the coffee shop is deserted, and that you're going to attempt to break in. Hyejin tells you to wait for backup before you do anything. You say that you haven't used your lockpicks since the academy and that it'll probably take you half the day to open that door. Hyejin snorts a half-hearted chuckle. She knows you too well to believe that you won't chew through that door if you have to.

You take out your lockpicking set, and try to remember the techniques that your were taught years ago. You hope it's not one of those fancy locks that can't be picked, your mind going to the keys you left at home next to your phone. You hate yourself for even contemplating giving them back. How dangerous can domestic life be when you've got people robbing coffee shops at gunpoint? You promise yourself to call the moving company as soon as you get home if both you and Yongsun get out of this alive.

It takes you the better part of fifteen minutes to successfully pick the lock, what with your heart frantically trying to beat the door down and your hands shaking like you've had twelve double espressos in a row. You need another minute to open the door slowly enough not to give yourself away by making noise.

You hadn't counted on the hostage takers having the smarts to set up a sound trap by piling up a bunch of empty coffee canisters right by the door. In spite of your best effort, some of the metal containers tumble to the floor with a loud clang as you wince and hiss in helpless frustration.

You hear muffled shouts from inside the shop and shove your way in, causing an even louder clatter of coffee canisters. You're standing in some sort of backstore room, and right in front of you, to the left, is a hallway. You raise your pistol and advance towards it, then take up a shooting position. A heartbeat later, a man erupts into the hallway, gun pointed at you, holding a woman in front of him. Her face is half hidden by the man's forearm, but her hair is an unmistakable shade of pink you would know anywhere.

This makes you hesitate just long enough for the man to take three shots.

You feel one bullet shatter your collarbone, and two shots slam square into your chest. You hit the floor and find yourself unable to breathe.

As you lie there, you can hear the woman whimpering in terror and the man screaming in panic. The smell of gunpowder is overpowering, and although you can feel no pain, you know that the warmth you feel on your face and neck is your own blood.

You manage to lift you head off the floor, and get a look at the woman's face. Your head thumps back down, and your mind formulates one last thought before everything goes black.

You didn't recognize her.

* * *

***** I'm using the ranking system currently in effect in the Montreal Police Service. The reason for this is twofold: I am much more familiar with this ranking system than I am with the one used by the Seoul Metropolitain Police Agency, and the rank equivalent to a sergeant in the Seoul police is "policeman", which I felt was very confusing.


	2. Troubled

When you came home yesterday and didn't find Byulyi's shoes by the door for the fifth day in a row, your heart sank a little deeper than it had before. Until that moment, you had never really contemplated the possibility that she might _not_ want to move in with you, taking comfort in the fact that the keys weren't on the table; but yesterday, the empty spot by the door had started gnawing at you, and you'd been left to wonder what was causing Byul to hesitate so much.

You know Byul loves you; not because she tells you, although she does, but because of all the little things that speak so much louder than words. The way her eyes light up like the first time when she hasn't seen you for a few days, or a few hours; the way she stares at your lips when you're in public because she wants to kiss you for no particular reason; the way her hand reaches out protectively when she hits the brakes too hard; the way she walks one step ahead of you in a crowd to make sure no one bumps into you; the way she always packs any leftover food you've made because it makes her cruiser feel like home for a few minutes. She loves you, of this you have no doubt; but she is afraid. Of what, you can only guess, and you don't dare ask her because fear is not something a person in her line of work likes to admit to.

And because you're afraid, too.

You've seen enough mangled bodies in the back of your ambulance to know that cars are lethal weapons, that domestic disputes can turn deadly in the blink of an eye, and that despair can lead people to commit the most despicable acts of savagery; and in the midst of it all are the cops who must somehow handle these situations without losing their lives or their sanity. Among those cops is Byulyi, whose life is more precious to you than any of the lives you've worked so hard to save in the five years you've been a paramedic.

Even that kid who was fished out of the Han river, and whom you had begged to breathe as Wheein and you tried to reanimate him.

Or that woman who had been raped and beaten so brutally, she could barely speak her own name. But how she had cried, holding your hand so tightly, it had felt as if she'd had a death grip on your heart.

So many lives you have fought so hard to preserve, each one leaving an indelible mark on your soul; yet you would trade any of them in a heartbeat for Byul's, if those lives were yours to give and Byul was taken from you.

Every hour she is not with you is an hour during which you could get that dreadful call from her partner or her superior, telling you that something has happened to her. Every night you sleep on your own is a night she might never come back to you. Those were things you had known when you had first laid eyes on her; when she had approached you and handed you her business card; when you had found an excuse to call her and she had invited you to dinner; when you had let her kiss you and she had not let things go further until you had been dating for a month; and when she had finally dropped her guard and you had gotten a glimpse of the soul that lay bare behind her tough exterior. You had known those things, yet you had been powerless to resist her. And you would do it all again if you could go back in time and start over.

She is the one you want to spend the rest of your days and nights with; and she's the only one who can stop it from happening.

You realize with a start that it's time for you to leave for work. You grab your keys and make sure your phone is fully charged, then head out the door. Another day, another life needing saving.

The drive to the station is uneventful, but things start going wrong as soon as you enter the garage. You find your partner arguing with the manager, who quickly dismisses her when he sees you approaching. Your partner clenches her fists, then storms off, and you break into a jog to catch up with her.

"Wheein, hold up!" you call out to her.

She whirls around, face flushed from her rising anger, but her expression softens a bit as soon as she catches sight of you. "I'd say good morning if this day wasn't already a disaster."

"What's happened?" you ask with a frown.

"We're stuck with Betsy. And of course, she's broken down—again—so we're not going anywhere in a hurry."

Betsy is the nickname your colleagues and you have come up with to refer to the oldest ambulance in the fleet. Everybody, including the managers, agrees that Betsy should have been scrapped sometime during the last decade, but for some reason, she still sits in the garage waiting to ruin some paramedic's day. That day has come for you and Wheein, and you groan in exasperation at the thought of having to deal with Betsy's temper for the next twelve hours.

"What did the manager say?" you ask.

"What do you think? Either we fix her or wait until some overtimers bring their bus back."

You hang your head and resign yourself to fiddling time away by poking under Betsy's hood. It's at least half an hour before a couple of night-shifters return to the station, and another half hour to get the ambulance cleaned up, restocked and ready to go.

You head over to your locker to change into your uniform, then remember that your phone had rumbled while your arms were full of clean linen, blankets and pillows. You hope it was Byul letting you know that she's on her way home, but realize with a hint of disappointment that the call you've missed—no voice message left—was from a number you don't recognize. There's also a text message from the same number that simply says:

Babe, where are you?

The name "Ahn Hyejin" doesn't ring any bells and you figure someone must have dialed the wrong number, so you ignore it. You worry that Byul might have to work overtime, and decide to give her a call. You let it ring until her voicemail picks up, then hang up and text her instead:

Thinking of you. Please be safe.

You ponder your message for a second and follow it up with:

Love you. Miss you. Kiss you.

Wheein is grinning, and you ask her what's so funny even though you know the gist of what she's going to say. "Kim Yongsun, paramedic and poet."

You huff. "You look a little green. Is that envy on your face?"

Wheein's sparkling laughter echoes through the locker room as she slaps you on the shoulder, and you can't help but chuckle at her good-natured humor. You're grateful that your partner is not the kind of person who will let a bad start sour her mood for the rest of the day.

When the two of you are finally set to begin your shift, you're more than forty-five minutes behind schedule and any hope you might have had of grabbing breakfast at your favorite coffee shop has evaporated. You tell yourself—not for the first time—that you really ought to start eating breakfast at home before leaving for work, because being hungry and caffeine-deprived is not a great way to start your day.

And your day starts with a bang. Literally.

"We've got a hostage situation at 16 Mugyo-ro. Firearms involved. No casualties reported, but we need a unit on site."

Wheein gives you a surprised look. "Isn't that the place we usually go to for breakfast?"

You confirm that it is and tell dispatch that you'll be running the call. Wheein switches the emergency lights on and you feel the ambulance picking up speed. You ride in silence for a while, then Wheein says:

"I think Betsy might have saved our hides."

You say nothing, but a sense of forboding is quickly rising inside of you. Why hasn't Byul tried to contact you? Why isn't she answering your calls, or replying to your messages? Before you can even think of reaching for your phone, dispatch comes through again:

"Twenty-two twelve, we've just been informed that shots have been fired. At least one police officer is believed to have been hit. Confirmation is pending. We'll keep you updated."

The wail of the siren fills your ears and your stomach lurches as the ambulance suddenly speeds up. You barely hear Wheein trying to comfort you over the roar of the engine and the hammering of your heart.

"It may not be her, Yongsun. There could be tons of reasons why she's not calling or texting. Maybe her phone battery died." She immediately bites her lip and winces, probably wishing she could swallow back that last part.

"Or she could be the one who died, from a gunshot wound!" Your voice sounds harsher than you mean it to be. You shake your head and sigh, Wheein's hand touching your arm for a brief moment before going back to the steering wheel. She tells you it's going to be all right, and you want to believe it. God, how you want to believe it. But the dread sits in the pit of your stomach and just keeps growing, a tidal wave quickly advancing and threatening to destroy everything you hold dear.

"I'm sorry, Wheein," you say, hating yourself for taking your anxiety out on your partner. Wheein, of course, says not to worry, that she understands, but it doesn't make you feel any better.

Your phone rumbles and your heart jumps in your throat. You fumble to take the phone out of its case and nearly drop it, then growl in disappointment as you see a now-familiar name on your display: Ahn Hyejin.

You pick up, determined to tell this Ahn Hyejin to stop calling your number, but the voice at the other end takes you completely off-guard:

"Kim Yongsun?"

Hearing your own name, you suddenly realize who this person is. And it's all you can do not to hang up on her.

"Yes." There's a tremor in your voice that you try to push past the lump in your throat.

"This is Sergeant Ahn Hyejin, of the Seoul Metropolitain Police Agency."

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for what's coming.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you at such a time, but I'm afraid I've got some bad news. Something's happened to Byulyi."

You let out a sob just as the world comes crashing down on you.


	3. Powerless

When you open your eyes, you can't quite understand what's happened; then you notice the deployed airbags, the shattered windshield, the crinkled hood, and it dawns upon you that Wheein and you have just been involved in a collision.

You try to turn your head and hiss as sharp, blinding pain slices along the spine in your neck. A moment passes before you attempt to move again, more slowly, and the pain is duller this time. The term _whiplash_ comes to mind, and you know that moving your head is going to be very unpleasant for the next several days, but you'll live.

You manage to twist your neck just enough to get a look at Wheein. Her eyes are closed and her head is hanging loosely over her chest, which sends a ripple of panic through you. You move over to her side, call out her name and gently coax her back to consciousness. When she comes to, you quickly assess her condition—mild concussion—and, after ensuring that she is lucid and able to move by herself, call dispatch to inform them of the situation. You then tell Wheein that you're going to check on whoever else was involved in the accident, determined to rip into them should they turn out to be either drunk or the kind of idiot who thinks that flashing lights and blaring sirens only apply to other drivers. The door on your side is stuck, and this makes you even more furious. You wonder whether the universe is playing some sort of sick trick on you as you make your way through the broken windshield, onto the crumpled hood of the ambulance, and down to the street.

A silver luxury sedan has virtually embedded itself into the front side of the ambulance, and you can't help but notice how close you came to having your legs crushed to a pulp. An elderly woman has exited the sedan on the passenger's side, looking somewhat dazed but otherwise unharmed. You approach her and ask how she's feeling, getting her account of what happened while you examine her.

"My husband," she says, gesturing towards the car. "He was driving and just passed out. I tried to wake him up... I tried..."

She shakes her head and hides her face in her hands, and your anger instantly dissipates. You place a comforting hand on her shoulder and tell her that you're going to take care of her husband, your heart squeezing in anguish at the thought of Byulyi bleeding to death on the floor of a coffee shop that is mere minutes from where you now stand. The elderly woman informs you that her husband has a heart condition, but that he has been taking his medication as prescribed, and that he's also diabetic. You head over to the driver's side and find the man still unconscious. You check his pulse—weak but steady—and make a mental note of how clammy his skin feels.

"How's his diet these days?" you ask, and the lady's expression tells you everything you need to know.

"I've told him he needs to be more careful," she says, "but he won't listen to me..." Her face is a mask of guilt and fear, and you feel your anger flare up again at the realization that a man's poor eating habits are keeping you from getting to Byulyi.

"He'll be all right," you tell the woman, fighting hard to keep your voice even. "It's not his heart. He just needs a glucose injection."

"I'll do it," a familiar voice says. You turn your head—pain stabbing at the back of you neck—and meet Wheein's eyes, which tell you that you're not doing as good a job as you were hoping at concealing your mounting frustration. You decide it's probably best for you to get started on the paperwork while your partner takes care of the impaired driver and his distraught wife.

As you make your way back to the ambulance, something catches your eye and you instantly recognize the uniform of the Seoul police. A young woman is advancing towards you, her steps deliberate and her face grave. You know this is Ahn Hyejin before you even get a good look at her name tag, and she nods at you in recognition.

"Kim Yongsun," she says, extending a hand. You can feel the heat radiating from her even though you're both wearing gloves.

"Sergeant Ahn." You force your lips to curve into a faint smile. "I didn't expect to see you here."

The sergeant's smile is just as forced as yours. "I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, but after your phone went dead and I heard dispatch report a collision involving an ambulance, I put two and two together. I had to make sure you were okay. For Byul's sake."

You swallow, fear tightening its grasp around your throat. "How is she?"

Sergeant Ahn inhales deeply. "I don't know," she admits. "Her backup was just about to make contact when they heard the shots, and all they've been able to tell me is that she's been hit."

"Then why are you here?" You can hear the edge in your voice and try in vain to keep your anger in check.

"There's another ambulance on the way," the sergeant says, her voice remaining calm and solicitous. "But I feel we might be able to get you there faster. She probably wouldn't want you to see her injured, but if this were my girlfriend, I'd want to be there."

"Believe me, I want nothing more than to be by Byul's side right now, but I can't leave my partner to deal with this," you glance back towards the scene of the accident, "situation by herself."

The young sergeant places a hand on your shoulder, exactly as you had done to the elderly woman a moment earlier. "I'll take care of your partner," she assures you. "You go and take care of mine."

A strange kind of relief washes over you, until you realize that you don't have a vehicle. "How am I going to get there?"

Sergeant Ahn ponders the question for a second, then asks, "Ever driven a police cruiser?"

You tell her that you haven't, and she points at the police car parked a short distance away. "Why don't you try this one, then? It's Byulyi's. I'm sure she won't mind."

You thank the sergeant and hold back a sudden urge to hug her, then race to the police cruiser, feeling a tinge of guilt at leaving Wheein behind. You take place behind the wheel, surprised by how comfortable it is, and look for traces of Byulyi. Your heart swells painfully as your eyes come across her last incident report. You recognize her handwriting, although it bears little resemblance to the one you've seen in birthday cards and on notes that Byul has left for you over the two years that you've been together. This handwriting is fast and angry, as if she'd been jabbing at the report with her pen while she filled it out.

You buckle up and gingerly set the vehicle in motion, but soon gain confidence when it becomes obvious that the Seoul police cruisers are worlds apart from your station's Betsy and friends. You struggle to stay within the speed limits, and minutes later, you see the police perimeter and the familiar shape of your favorite cafe.

You park the cruiser near another police car, and get a few surprised looks and suspicious glances as you exit Byul's vehicle. Your paramedic uniform seems to quickly ease the officers' minds, however, and you soon learn that a tactical unit has been called in and that they are going to attempt to "neutralize the threat" using tear gas and bean bag rounds.

You stand on the sidelines for twenty minutes, barely breathing and biting your lips raw, then nearly let out a scream as the tear gas grenades detonate and the bean bag shots ring out. There are loud shouts, but the gas fumes prevent you from seeing anything that's happening in the coffee shop. Moments later, you hear a report on the police radio:

"All suspects are in custody. No hostage casualties, but we've got a police officer who is unconscious and bleeding profusely. Gunshot wounds. Request an EMS unit right away."

It takes every bit of self-control you still possess for you not to shove aside the police officers standing by as you enter the security perimeter. You catch sight of the ambulance parked nearby and make a run for it, then tell—not ask—your fellow paramedics that you're going to lend them a hand. They seem puzzled but don't object, and you grab a hold of the trauma kit and oxygen bag while they take out the stretcher. The three of you follow two police officers down an alley leading to the back of the coffee shop, then through an open door and into a backstore area. Your eyes and throat immediately begin to burn from the tear gas, and something leaden and terrible drops to the pit of your stomach as you recognize the supine figure on the floor.

You fall down on your knees, her name both a desperate prayer and a gut-wrenching sob. You feel her blood—so much of it!—soak through the fabric of you pants and spread on to your skin, as time suddenly slows down and the world seems to come to a stop. You watch as hands—yours?—perform motions that are alien to you, and you hear a voice—your own?—speak words that you don't understand. The only sound that makes any sense to you is Byulyi's name, which the voice keeps repeating like an echo, or a litany. Darkness turns to light, then to darkness again, and all the muffled sounds around you merge into an ear-splitting wail that cuts right through your trance-like state and brings you back to yourself.

You're in the back of an ambulance, pressing a bloody towel against Byulyi's chest and collarbone. You check her vitals, willing her heart to go on beating and her lungs to keep on drawing breath.

"I'm right here, Byul," you whisper into her ear, the smell of her blood permeating every word. "You're doing great. Just hang on, my love, please, hang on."

A tear runs down her crimson-spattered cheek and you gasp, hoping to see her eyes flutter open.

Only later, while Byulyi is undergoing surgery and you wait out the minutes like an inmate on death row, do you realize that you've been crying.


	4. Safe

When you open your eyes, you're standing in Yongsun's apartment, which you'd already guessed from the jingling of keys and the clean smell. What surprises you is seeing Hyejin and the girl formerly known as Yongsun's infuriatingly pretty partner, whose name you now care to remember since Wheein seems as crazy about your partner as Hyejin is about the dimpled beauty.

You hug Hyejin and awkwardly shake Wheein's hand before you remember that the two of you met while you were heavily sedated. Wheein and Yongsun laugh your gaffe off, while Hyejin rolls her eyes and asks if you suffered brain damage in the operating room. You give her a little push and tell her you'll give _her_ brain damage, but Hyejin promises you'll end up with your other arm in a sling if you try that. Wheein decides to intervene and throws her arms around Hyejin's neck, then demands in the voice of a five-year-old that Hyejin stop ignoring her. Hyejin immediately proceeds to ignore you, and Yongsun takes a hold of your hand, urging you to follow her.

She is radiant as she leads you into every room in the apartment and you notice that each one of your things has its place, as if they'd always belonged there and weren't just a recent addition.

"Welcome home." Her smile sends your heart soaring so high, you think it'll burst out of your chest and paint the sky with multicolored explosions. Using your good arm, you pull Yongsun into a long I've-missed-you kind of kiss, and she responds by deepening it, tenderly cradling your face. When your lips part, there's love, joy, and relief dancing in Yongsun's eyes. Can she see how she fills your world with warm light and bright colors? She gazes into your soul, then suddenly turns serious, and you know what she is going to say before the words come out.

"Don't ever scare me like that again."

You want to tell her how scared you were, too, and how it was only the thought of losing her that had made you forget all concern for your own life; but the words fail to come out, as they always do.

Yongsun's hand reaches up and caresses your cheek. "Promise me you'll never do anything so reckless again."

You take her hand in your own and place it on your chest, right over the spot where the bullet had pierced through your vest. "I promise."

"And you'll always wait for backup, even if I'm stuck in a building that's on fire."

You shake your head. "That, I can't promise."

Yongsun frowns. "Byul—"

"I promise I'll always wait for backup in any situation that doesn't involve your life being in danger. Fair enough?"

She ponders your words for a moment, then agrees. "Fair enough."

You seal your promise with a kiss, and swear to yourself that you'll always do right by this woman, no matter what.

"How about we go check on the kids?" Yongsun suggests.

You chuckle. "Don't let Hyejin hear you say that."

"You'll protect me, right?" Yongsun coos with a seductive wink, then grabs your hand—the good one—and leads you back into the room where you left Hyejin and Wheein.

You find the two of them giggling and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, comfortably nestled into your brand new sofa. You give them a moment to notice your presence and, when they don't, you ask Yongsun in a loud voice if those are your adopted kids.

Yongsun's tiny crescent eyes betray what the hand on her mouth tries to hide; Wheein's peal of laughter, so bright and genuine, instantly wins you over; and Hyejin's face leaves no doubt as to how absurd the idea of your holding any kind of authority over her seems to her.

"Are you sure those doctors didn't take out a part of your brain along with those bullet fragments?" Hyejin asks.

"Don't act like I'm not your hero, Ahn Hyejin."

"All right, you've got me," Hyejin says. "When I grow up, I want to be just like you. Minus the bullet hole in the chest, the broken collarbone, and the general stupidity, of course."

You huff. "You're just jealous 'cause I've got some cool scars to go with my war stories."

"Welcome to Delusionland, Alice. The only people who think scars are cool are those who _have_ scars."

"I beg to differ," Yongsun objects, "especially when said scars are the result of a heroic act."

Hyejin dismisses your smug I-am-a-hero look with a wave of her hand.

"I think they're kind of cool, too," Wheein admits sheepishly before hiding behind the largest cushion she can get her hands on.

Hyejin's surprise is the funniest thing you've seen in a long time, and when the upper half of Wheein's face reappears from behind the cushion and Wheein gives her girlfriend the most irresistible puppy eyes ever, Hyejin herself can't help but join in the laughter.

"Those puppy eyes," you manage to say once your hilarity has died down a bit. "From now on, you're Wheepup to me."

"No, she's not," Hyejin objects. "You can't give my girlfriend a cute nickname when you've known her for about five minutes."

"Then how long do I have to know her for?"

"Are you serious? _I_ don't even have a nickname for her, for fu—," she glances at Wheein, "I mean, Pete's sake!"

"You can call me Wheepup," Wheein says to Hyejin. "But who's Pete?"

Hyejin seems unsure whether to let the question about Pete slide, but she's adamant about the nickname. "I can't call you Wheepup."

Wheein frowns. "Why not?"

"Because it's Byul's idea!" Hyejin exclaims, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Wheein, however, isn't so easily denied. She makes a sad face and pleads, "But I _like_ Wheepup!"

Hyejin opens her mouth to protest, blinks a few times and, seeing Wheein puppy-eye her for the second time, finally relents.

"Fine, I'll call you Wheepup!" She points a warning finger at you. "But only _I_ get to call her that, you hear me, Moon Byulyi?"

You raise your good hand and swear never to call Wheein by her newfound nickname. Then Yongsun makes you promise never to call any other woman by any nickname whatsoever, much to Hyejin's delight.

When Yongsun suggests that Wheein and Hyejin stay for dinner, you feel a brief tinge of regret at not being able to enjoy your first meal in your new home with Yongsun alone. But your guests are splendid company, and you know it's the least you can do to thank them for everything they've done for you since the shooting. Not only did they help move your stuff, but they were by Yongsun's side every day while you recovered from your surgeries. That alone deserves your boundless gratitude.

During dinner, Yongsun enforces a strict no-alcohol policy—you're still on pain medication, after all—and, in a show of support, refuses to drink as well. Wheein and Hyejin, however, show no such restraint, and by the time they leave—by taxi—Wheein is more than a little tipsy, and Hyejin is only pretending to be, clearly enjoying her girlfriend's uninhibited displays of affection.

You help Yongsun clear out the dirty dishes and clean the kitchen as best you can, and Yongsun lets you because she knows you need to feel useful in spite of your injuries. So when she helps you get undressed, washes you, changes your dressings, and makes sure your collarbone is mending properly, you let her because you know she needs to feel that you can rely on her. You're used to being the one people rely on to keep them safe and take care of their problems, but having someone take care of you so selflessly and lovingly is something you can definitely get used to.

Later, after she sends you to seventh heaven and you can taste your own ectasy on her lips; after you watch as she touches herself, reaches the brink of her climax, then lets you take her over the edge with your good hand; after she snuggles up to you and slowly traces every line, curve, and hollow on your face; you know the time has come for you to make this angel of a woman yours until your dying breath.

"I've got something for you."

Yongsun's mouth quirks into an amused smile. She had spoken the exact same words in similar circumstances just a few weeks before.

She plays along. "What is it?"

You sit up, intent on retrieving Yongsun's surprise from its hiding place, but Yongsun stops you and insists on getting it herself.

"I bet I can find it," she says.

You bet she can't, but after a couple of false starts, Yongsun proves you dead wrong by walking into the bedroom with a triumphant grin on her face and a small box in her hand.

"Why does this look familiar?" Yongsun asks.

You tell her this _may_ be the same box she used to give you the keys to the apartment, then ask her how she managed to find it so easily.

"I've lived here longer than you have," she explains. "I know the hiding spots."

She gives you an expecting look and you tell her to open the box. Her hand is trembling as she takes the lid off. She gasps.

"Oh, Byul..." She brings her trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes shiny with tears.

You get out of bed and walk up to her, then take that same trembling hand of hers into your own.

"I know I'm terrible at expressing how I feel," you say, "but I'll try my best. And not just today, but for as long as I live."

You take out the exquisite rose gold ring and place it on Yongsun's finger. "I'd be the happiest woman in the universe if you became my wife, Kim Yongsun."

The tears spill out of her eyes, and she kisses you with a smile on her lips.

"That would be my greatest wish come true, Moon Byulyi."

You kiss her back and pull her as close as your slinged arm will allow, burying your face into her hair. You squeeze your eyes shut to hold back the tears, but one escapes and falls onto Yongsun's bare shoulder. She pulls away, sees that you are crying, and the two of you laugh through your tears. Yongsun hugs you as tightly as she dares to without hurting you.

"I love you, Yongsun," you whisper in her ear.

"And I adore you, my bold, brave, beautiful Byulyi." She loses herself in your eyes for a moment before she continues, "How in the world did you manage to get this ring? You were barely conscious for a week with all those surgeries, and you couldn't get out of bed on your own after that. Then there were the police statements, and me watching over you like a hawk..."

"I have some really good friends," you say.

"Anybody I know?"

You remember Hyejin's conspirational wink when she, Wheein and Yongsun had visited you at the hospital after they had moved your things into Yongsun's apartment.

"Could be," you say.

"Will you thank her for me?"

You brush a strand of pink hair out of her eye. "I'll do better than that."

"How so?" Yongsun's curiosity is genuine, but there's a twinkle in her eyes, as if she's expecting the punchline to an elaborate joke.

You take the hand that bears the ring and kiss it the way you've seen people do to queens in the movies. "I'll make her my best man."


	5. Bonus: First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a bonus scene relating what happened to Wheein and Hwasa after they left Moonsun's apartment... Wheesa believers, enjoy!

Wheein and you stumble out onto the street, laughing and holding on to each other like a couple of drunks, which is essentially what you are at the moment. Wheein mostly, but you've had your fair share of wine and can play the part just fine.

The taxi is already parked by the curb and in a grand gentlewomanly gesture, you open the door for Wheein, who just stands there, slightly wobbly on her feet.

She scrunches up her face and giggles. "What are you doing, Hyejin?"

"What the hell are you two waiting for?" the cabbie asks in a gruff and impatient voice that earns him no star in your book.

You take Wheein's hand and ease her into the back seat, then sit down next to her. By then, the cabbie looks positively annoyed, and you ask him if there's a problem. He suddenly realizes that you may not be as drunk as you appear and assures you that everything is fine. You don't believe him for a second, but you don't want to spoil the mood with Wheein, so you let it slide.

You give him your address after Wheein shows no misgivings about spending the night at your place, and instruct him to take the shortest route possible. He doesn't give any indication that he has heard you and, for a second, you feel like giving him a lecture on his lousy manners. Wheein, however, seems oblivious to his existence and tries to straddle you, which distracts you long enough for you to forget about the cabbie for a moment.

You spend a minute convincing Wheein to sit next to you for safety's sake, and another minute trying to resist her kisses because you don't like the looks the cabbie is giving you in the rearview mirror. Then you realize that you care more about making Wheein happy than making some rude taxi driver unhappy and before long, Wheein and you are in full make-out mode. You try your best not to pay any mind to the throat-clearing sounds coming from the front seat, but the cabbie will not be ignored and sternly reminds you that you're in a taxi, not a hotel room.

Under normal circumstances, you would have respected a taxi driver's perfectly reasonable wish not to witness such overt displays of affection. But this cabbie has shown nothing but hostility towards Wheein and you, which is something you get enough of at work. You shouldn't have to put up with it when you're just trying to get a ride home with your slightly inebriated and extremely hot girlfriend.

"Perhaps you'd rather pull over and let me inspect your vehicle, licenses, and registration?" Your tone is amicable, but your eyes are drilling holes into his skull.

He returns your stare. "And why would I want to do that?"

You lean over as if you're about to whisper something in his ear. "Because I'm a cop, and your attitude is ticking all the wrong boxes in the good cabbie's manual."

You see a flash of hatred in his eyes, but also fear. "I apologize, ma'am. It's been a rough day."

You lean back and say with genuine sympathy, "It's all right. I can relate."

The cabbie's demeanor visibly mellows, and you quietly let Wheein know that the two of you should wait until you're home before continuing your make-out session.

"I've never done it in a taxi," Wheein remarks.

You chuckle. "And you won't, because I'd have to arrest us if we did."

Wheein accuses you of being no fun and pouts for about three seconds before snuggling up to you again.

"How much longer?" she asks.

You kiss the top of her head. "Not much."

She seems satisfied and remains quiet for the rest of the ride. The cabbie drops you off a few minutes later and you give him a tip as a sign that you harbor no hard feelings. He seems grateful and even offers to help you get Wheein safely inside, but the thought of his entering your apartment, even for a few seconds, creeps you out, and you politely decline. He doesn't insist.

You head on inside and Wheein suggests that you use the elevator.

"I live on the second floor," you remind her.

"I know," Wheein says coyly, "but maybe the elevator could break down for a few minutes..."

You are tempted to go along with her plan, but your inner cop immediately conjures up images of your getting caught by some unsuspecting neighbor, their calling the police, and the whole thing getting embarrassing really fast.

"Let's not," you say, and Wheein once again claims that you're no fun.

"And your drunken self is an exhibitionist. You really wanted that cabbie to watch us having sex?"

"I wasn't thinking about the cabbie," Wheein admits. "And I'm not drunk."

"Right. And what about my neighbors?"

"What about them?"

"You want some old lady to catch us in the act in the elevator?"

Wheein eyes you up and down. "I was only thinking about one lady, and she isn't old."

You can't come up with anything clever to say to that, and are once again amazed by how Wheein can do that to you. Just take the words right out of you and leave you speechless. You pick her up like a groom taking his bride to their home for the first time, and climb up the stairs leading to your floor. You realize that you need to put her down to unlock the door, and Wheein won't let you pick her up again. Instead, she grabs your hand and pulls you into the apartment.

"Aren't you the eager one," you say as she heads straight for the bedroom with you in tow.

She responds by taking all of her clothes off and striking a pose, a mischiveous smile on her lips. The grumpy cabbie is long forgotten by now, and the spark in Wheein's eyes sets your soul on fire. Soon, there's a furnace roaring inside of you, a volcano awakening, its molten core bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

You can't shed your clothes fast enough, and in your haste, your lips nearly crash against Wheein's. There's a brief struggle as you both vie to take control, but you manage to overpower her and pin her to the bed.

"That's police brutality," Wheein says cheekily.

You don't miss a beat. "You were resisting arrest, young lady."

"Will you handcuff me?"

You smirk. "Only if you beg me."

Wheein apparently has no intention of begging for anything and attempts to reverse your position, but your police training once again puts you at an advantage and you're able to block her, pinning both her arms above her head. She groans in frustration and tries to wiggle out of your grasp, to no avail.

"What are the charges against me?" she demands.

"Public drunkenness."

"I'm not drunk, I'm tipsy. And we're not in public."

"Indecent exposure."

She glances down at your bare chest. "Look who's talking."

You think for a second. "Attempt at corrupting a police officer."

Her lips curve up. "Guilty as charged."

You kiss the smile off her face. "I could let you off with a warning."

"Or you could just get me off."

The boiling pit of desire inside of you flares up and burns right through any walls of resistance that might still have been standing. You want to taste and feel every part of Wheein at once, take her gently and hard, slowly and fast, make her whisper your name, moan it, scream it, give yourself up to her and let her do with you what she will. Wheein sees this in your eyes, and there's an air of victory in the way she grins at you.

You let go of her wrists and she pulls you into a kiss, lips parting slightly and tongue gently seeking yours. Your hand reaches down for her crotch, and you find her slick with want, your fingers sliding effortlessly inside of her. Wheein moans into your mouth and starts rocking her pelvis in time with your hand. You position yourself so that one of her legs is between yours, then use your own grinding motion to build up both Wheein's pleasure and yours.

Soon, her breathing becomes heavy and you pick up the pace. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your arousal has reached a fevered pitch, but you want Wheein to come before you give in to your own climax.

Then her body tenses up, her sex pulsing around your fingers. You keep up the pace, unbearably close to the edge, and Wheein suddenly lets go, crying out something that sounds like your name. You take off, your orgasm exploding and taking your breath away.

A moment later, you are lying in each other's arms, kissing, panting, trying to find your bearings.

"At least one good thing came out of Byulyi's shooting," Wheein says.

You give her a questioning look. "What's that?"

"You and I may have never met if that horrible day hadn't played out the way it did."

"That was the one good thing that happened on that day," you agree. "But what was that about scars? You really think they're cool?"

"Not all scars, obviously. Some are just plain scary. But you've got to admit that surviving a shooting gives Byulyi's scars a certain... _allure_. What she did was incredibly brave."

You frown slightly and blink a few times, like you're not quite sure you've heard her correctly. "Funny how the only words that come to my mind when I think of Byul's actions on that day are 'incredibly stupid'."

There is surprise in Wheein's eyes. "Do you mean to say that you wouldn't do the same if I was held hostage at gunpoint?"

"I don't mean to say that at all," you admit, "but just because I would do exactly what Byul did if something like this happened to you doesn't mean that it's not a stupid thing to do."

"Let's just hope you never have to do anything stupid, then."

She kisses you long and deep, and before you know it, you find yourself on your back with Wheein straddling your hips.

"What do you think you're doing?" you ask.

"I want to be on top this time."

"Will you even remember that we made love when we wake up in the morning?"

Wheein looks puzzled. "Why wouldn't I remember?"

"You're drunk."

She clicks her tongue in mock irritation. "I've told you already, I'm not drunk."

"Oh, right. You're _tipsy_. Sorry."

"You're not."

You smirk. "I'm not."

The gleam in her eyes is as much the result of alcohol consumption as it is a different kind of intoxication. "If I don't remember," she says, "then you can always remind me. Preferably with a hands-on demonstration."

You think for a moment. "I've never had hungover sex."

Wheein's hand finds its way between your legs. "There's a first for everything."


End file.
